The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Rob’s asked if he can take you to a dance next Saturday in the town,’ her grandmother said the following week, her tone already indicating that she might agree. Ella’s hopes soared.

  ‘A dance? Me?’ Ella’s wide eyes were incredulous. ‘But I can’t dance.’

  Esther laughed. ‘Neither can he, but he ses now it’s something called . . . Now what did he call it, Jonathan?’

  ‘Er . . .’ Her grandfather wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully. ‘Jeeving, was it?’

  Ella giggled. ‘No, Grandpa, jiving. I’ve seen it on Janice’s telly.’

  ‘Ah yes, that was it. Jiving.’ He smiled at her. ‘Me and your grannie thought you deserved a bit of fun. You’ve been a good lass this week, helping . . .’ He glanced towards Esther as if willing her to back him up. Ella, too, looked at her grandmother.

  ‘That’s right.’ Esther nodded. ‘Ya’ve worked hard helping us get the hay in with ya grandpa bein’ a bit under the weather.’

  Ella smiled, went to her grandmother and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Go on with you, ya daft ’aporth,’ Esther said, but she was smiling and the pink tinge on her cheeks showed Ella that her unexpected action had pleased her grandmother.

  Then suddenly, Ella’s face fell. ‘Oh, I can’t go. I was forgetting . . .’

  The other two looked at her. ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I . . .’ she began, and stopped. She had been going to say she had no pretty dress to wear, but such a remark would be tactless after they had been generous enough to give permission, even if, as she suspected, it had been her grandfather who had done the persuading.

  ‘I – er – I’ll have to wash my trousers quick, that’s all,’ she faltered.

  ‘Trousers! You can’t go to a dance in trousers for heaven’s sakes,’ Esther began and then stared at Ella. ‘Oh. Oh, I see. You haven’t a dress other than ya school dresses, have ya, lass?’

  ‘Well, er, no, Gran.’

  Esther looked towards Jonathan, who, standing up, said firmly, ‘Then it’s high time the girl had, Esther.’

  Much to Ella’s surprise Esther smiled coquettishly and said, with feigned meekness, ‘Yes, Jonathan.’

  Ella watched as he crossed the space between himself and his wife, kissed her forehead, patted her behind and went, still chuckling, from the kitchen.

  ‘Well, lass, if we’ve to mek you a dress afore Saturday night, we’d best get cracking.’

  Ella could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘Do you mean it, Gran?’

  Esther nodded. ‘Get ya mam’s sewing machine up on to the table in the living room whilst I go and ferret amongst me bits and pieces upstairs.’ She came down a few moments later carrying a length of white nylon and what looked like a roll of fabric. ‘This’d make you a pretty blouse, and look . . .’ she pulled out the roll and there seemed to be yards and yards ‘. . . I bought this last summer thinking I’d mek mesen a dress for Sundays. But I’ve never got round to it. If ya like it, lass, ya can use this.’

  The material was iced cotton, roses on a white background.

  ‘It’s lovely, Gran. But what about a pattern?’

  The look on her grandmother’s face was comical. ‘Ah, now there you’ve got me. The only patterns I have are for my age group. Hardly suitable for a sixteen-year-old. Tell you what, you can bike into the town and go and choose a pattern you like. One for a blouse and one for a skirt.’

  Excited now, Ella said, ‘Can I get one of those that sticks out? She spread her hands round her thighs. ‘They’re slim at the waist and hips and then sort of puff out in a full skirt. Janice had one on last week. It was lovely.’

  ‘Don’t they need some petticoats underneath, though?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Ella’s face fell. ‘Probably. I never thought of that.’

  ‘Well, have a look on the material counter in Reynolds. When you’ve chosen your pattern, ask the assistant how much of that stiff net you’d need to make an underskirt with several layers.’

  ‘Can’t you come with me, Gran?’

  Esther stared at her for a moment and then said slowly, ‘Do you know, lass, I think I will.’

  Their shopping spree into Lynthorpe was one of the happiest times Ella had ever spent with her grandmother. They returned home loaded with patterns, pink net for an underskirt and black ribbon to bind the rough edges of the net.

  ‘Right then, lass. Ya’d better get to work.’

  Though Esther had taught Ella to sew almost from the time she had come to live at Brumbys’ Farm, she had never tackled anything so complicated as this. Under her grandmother’s guidance the fabrics were cut and Ella began to sew the pieces together, carefully following the instructions accompanying the paper pattern, assisted – or rather hindered – by a playful Tibby.

  ‘Don’t do that, Tibs,’ Ella said, when the cat stuck his claws through the thin tissue of the pattern. ‘You’ll tear it.’

  She could not be cross with Tibby for long: she was too thankful to see how quickly he had recovered from his injury.

  ‘What’s baste mean, Gran?’ Ella asked, poring over the instruction sheet. ‘I thought you did that in cooking?’

  Esther laughed. ‘Big tacking stitches, I think.’

  Soon the white nylon blouse, a wrap-over at the front to form a V-neckline, with three-quarter length sleeves, began to take shape. The skirt was a snug-fitting basque over her slim hips and then gathered at about hip level to ‘puff out’, as Ella put it, into an almost circular skirt at the hem. With the layers of net she made an underskirt, carefully sewing the black ribbon round and round the hem.

  ‘There should be a little gadget that fits on to the machine to help you keep the hems even,’ Esther advised. ‘Look in the little box at the side of the machine. It might be there.’

  Ella took off the metal lid and scrabbled amongst the bobbins and attachments. ‘Is it this one?’

  ‘No. That’s for putting a zip in.’

  Again she poked about and her fingers touched a tiny object at the bottom. She picked it up and, holding it out, asked, ‘What’s this key for?’

  Esther stared at it. ‘I don’t know. Probably it locks the machine. Leave it in there, anyway.’

  So Ella dropped the key back into its hiding place and went on searching for the machine’s gadget.

  ‘That’s the one.’ Esther pointed. ‘Now, take the presser-foot off and fit that one. You’ll find it much easier to keep a straight line.’

  Late that night, Ella was still hand-sewing the hem round the circular skirt. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Esther came and stood in front of her. ‘You go off to bed, lass. I’ll finish that for you.’

  ‘Are you sure, Gran? You have to be up early too.’ In fact, her grandmother always rose at six every morning, sometimes even earlier in summer.

  Esther smiled. ‘Go on with you. I’ll finish it.’ She took the skirt from Ella, sat down and spread it across her knees.

  For a moment Ella watched her grandmother’s fingers working the tiny, almost invisible, stitches. ‘I can see where Mum got her talent for sewing from now,’ she murmured and Esther looked up to meet her gaze.

  ‘Aye, well,’ she said softly. ‘I suppose skills like this get passed down the generations. It was my aunt taught me, though at the time I didn’t thank her.’ Esther fell silent and bent over her work.

  Ella kissed the grey hair on the bowed head and turned swiftly away before either of them should feel embarrassed. ’Night then, Gran – and thank you.’

  When at last Ella tried on the finished blouse and skirt and stood before the mirror on Esther’s sideboard in the front parlour, standing on tiptoe to see as much of herself as she could, she could hardly recognize her own image. She smoothed her hands down the nylon of the blouse; she was even beginning to get curves in the right places and the full skirt emphasized her tiny waist. She twisted from side to side feeling the skirt and petticoats swish, but her gaze never left the mirror.

  Esther sa
id, ‘It looks very nice, love. But you’ll never be able to go on Rob’s motorbike in that.’

  ‘Oh no, Uncle Danny’s taking us, Gran, and fetching us home. My golden coach, you know. I shall feel like Cinderella!’

  ‘Well, just like Cinders you’ll have to be home by midnight.’

  ‘Midnight! Oh, Gran,’ Ella flung her arms around the older woman. ‘Thank you. I didn’t think you’d let me stay that late.’

  ‘Well, as you’re going with Rob, and Danny’s fetching you in the car, I don’t mind now and again.’

  Ella could hardly believe the sudden change in her grandmother. But then at Esther’s next words, the girl understood a little better.

  ‘I got to thinking the other night when I was sewing ya skirt. Mebbe ya grandpa’s right and I have been a bit hard on you, lass. That – that because me own childhood was – well – tough, perhaps I don’t know how to have fun and I’m stopping you.’

  ‘Oh Gran,’ Ella whispered, ‘why don’t you have some fun too? You could you know.’

  ‘Oh no, not me. I don’t need that sort of fun. As long as I’ve got ya grandpa, that’s all I need.’

  She hadn’t meant it to sound the way it came out, Ella knew, but what her grandmother said was perfectly true; Esther needed no one in her life except the farm and Jonathan. She needed no one else, not even her granddaughter.

  Ella, holding her breath, waited for the familiar hurt to come. Strangely, although there was a sense of sadness, the pain was not so acute. Perhaps because the young girl was on the threshold of womanhood and knew, now, what it felt to love a man, just maybe Ella was beginning to understand that one person – the love of one’s life – could be enough.

  She sighed deeply. If only Rob . . . she dreamed. Ella shook herself and then, just for once, allowed herself a smug smile. At least he was taking her, and not Janice Souter, to the dance.

  On the Saturday evening, dressed in her finery, Ella tiptoed into her grandparents’ bedroom. Her grandfather had gone to bed early.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Esther,’ he’d said. ‘I’m a bit tired, that’s all. I just need an early night and I’ll be as right as rain in the morning.’

  Ella lifted the latch on the door and whispered, ‘Grandpa, are you awake?’

  ‘Course I am, love. I’m only resting. Come in and let me have a look at you.’

  Though it was not yet quite dark outside, two candles, one on the narrow mantelpiece and one on the dressing table, lit up the room, sending shadows dancing across the ceiling.

  ‘My, you do look pretty, lass. Now, be a good girl and maybe your grannie will let you go again, eh?’

  ‘I will,’ Ella said, willingly giving him her promise. As she twirled around to make her skirts swish, she caught sight of the row of silver-framed photographs on the mantelpiece, the light from the candle flickering over them. She stood still and bent to look at the one of her mother in WAAF uniform.

  ‘Do you think . . .’ she asked wistfully, ‘Mum would think I look – nice?’

  Gently, Jonathan’s deep voice reassured her, ‘She’d think, and quite rightly, that she has a beautiful daughter. Now, no more sad memories, love. Off you go and enjoy yourself. It’s what your mum would have wanted.’

  She was about to turn away, when she caught sight of a photograph almost hidden at the back of the others. Bending closer she saw it was of a young man with dark curly hair, dressed in an old-fashioned uniform. She almost gasped aloud, but when she turned to look at her grandfather, he was lying back against the pillows with his eyes closed. She glanced back once more at the photograph and then quietly tiptoed from the room, closing the door.

  For a moment she stood on the tiny landing at the top of the stairs, her mind in a whirl. Why on earth had her gran got a picture on her bedroom mantelpiece of the same man as Rob’s Grandma Eland had on her sideboard? In fact, if she were not mistaken, it was another copy of exactly the same photograph.

  From below, she heard her grandmother call, ‘Danny’s here in the car, Ella.’ And as excitement at the thought of the evening ahead claimed her, she ran lightly down the stairs, her new skirt billowing out around her, and promptly forgot all about the mystery.

  As he held open the car door for her, she saw the admiring glance Rob gave her. ‘Hey, you do look nice. I’d almost forgotten what you look like in a skirt,’ he teased, and ducked smartly out of the way as she aimed a playful blow at him. She climbed into the back seat and spread her skirts carefully about her. Rob got into the front seat beside Danny and the car moved out of the yard. Through the back window Ella saw Esther, standing in the doorway to watch them go, still dressed in her apron, sleeves rolled up above her elbows, her day’s work not yet finished.

  Pushing away a tiny sliver of guilt, Ella smiled and waved and then, deliberately, she turned her thoughts to the evening ahead.

  The dance floor felt as if it were vibrating beneath her feet. They had heard the music loud and reverberating, even before they’d climbed the stairs to the upper floor above the café. Ella gasped as the music from the live group hit them, almost physically. Before them was a mass of gyrating bodies, swirling skirts and writhing legs and arms.

  ‘Come on, Townie,’ Rob shouted in her ear, ‘let’s show ’em how.’

  Ella swallowed. Janice had been giving her jiving lessons, but the reality seemed so fast.

  Rob dragged her into the throng and before she knew what was happening she was twirling round, Rob catching her hand each time and sending her spinning in the opposite direction, jiving just as Janice had taught her. Ella soon forgot to be self-conscious, whirling faster and faster until her head was dizzy, hearing nothing above the blaring music.

  ‘Look out!’ Rob suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him and Ella turned to see, just behind her, a boy flinging his partner over his shoulder in a flurry of petticoats, the sharp stilettos of her shoes slicing a dangerous arc close to where Ella had been dancing.

  ‘Thanks,’ she mouthed to Rob and they moved away a little.

  ‘Hey, you aren’t bad at this,’ he yelled above the noise. ‘I’ll bring you again if you dance like this.’

  Later, breathless, she stood beside him as he bought her a Coke.

  Want a scoop of ice-cream in it?’

  ‘Eh?’ Her eyes widened.

  ‘It’s ever so nice.’ Janice nudged her. ‘Go on, try it. I’ll have one too, Rob, and then it’s time you danced with me for a change.’

  From the edge of the dance floor, sipping the Coke with a spoonful of vanilla ice-cream floating on the top, she watched as Janice claimed Rob in a slow number, dancing close together as a singer crooned romantic lyrics.

  ‘You dancing, then?’ She heard a voice at her shoulder and turned to see Jimmy standing there, his hands thrust into his pockets. She felt a sudden flash of empathy for Jimmy Souter. With his spiky carroty hair and a face covered with freckles, he hardly ever seemed to get a girlfriend. Girls flocked around Rob’s dark good looks, but Jimmy just seemed to tag along in his wake, on the fringe of the action but never quite part of it. Bit like me, Ella thought, and, setting down her glass, she held out her hand. ‘Course I am.’

  Jimmy danced stiffly, his hand hot against her back through the thin material of her blouse. He held her away from him so that he could look down at his feet, placing them with deliberate care, and she heard him muttering, ‘Forward, side, together . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Jimmy. I can’t dance either.’

  He looked up in surprise. ‘Can’t you? I saw you dancing with Rob earlier. You looked great together.’

  ‘It’s Rob. He’s such a good dancer, he makes anyone he dances with look good.’

  ‘Mind you,’ Jimmy said, nodding his head so that the hair he had tried to smooth down so meticulously sprang up in untidy tufts, ‘our Janice is a smashing dancer. They look good together, don’t they?’

  Ella was obliged to look across to where Janice and Rob were dancing. They seemed even
closer now; Janice’s head was snuggled against his shoulder, her arm possessively around his neck. Ella’s only consolation as they danced by was that, above Janice’s head, Rob gave her a broad wink.

  As the dance ended, Rob pushed his way through the crowd to her. ‘Phew, I’m melting in here. Let’s get out for a bit, El. Have you finished your drink?’

  She looked about her. ‘I put it down somewhere . . . Oh, there it is. Wait a minute.’

  The ice-cream had melted into a white froth on top of the coke and she drank it down. ‘Janice is right. It is nice.’

  ‘Somebody’s bright idea.’ Rob grinned as he grabbed her hand. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Rob – Rob . . .’ They heard Janice’s voice but Rob only gripped Ella’s hand tighter and pulled her away, threading their way through the dishevelled dancers queuing for drinks and towards the double doors leading to the stairs.

  Outside they breathed deeply in the sharp night air. ‘Phew, that’s better. That smoke gets on your chest after a bit, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I saw Janice smoking earlier.’

  He said nothing, but as they walked along the sea-front towards the road leading down to the beach, she felt his arm come around her waist. ‘We’ll just take a breather and then we’ll go back. Okay?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Was it okay? she thought to herself and almost giggled aloud. It was what she dreamed about, walking arm in arm with Rob in the moonlight. To think it was really happening.

  ‘Let’s go and look at the sea.’

  They stood at the edge of the sand where the road gave way on to the beach and listened to the soft lap-lap of the waves, distinct in the night air, the moonlight shimmering on the tip of each wave.

  ‘I love this place, you know, El,’ he murmured softly, his eyes gazing out across the vast expanse of silver ocean. ‘I don’t ever want to leave it.’

  For a moment, she laid her head against his shoulder and sighed. If only he were to say the word, she, too, would stay here for ever. Momentarily, his arm tightened about her waist and she raised her head to look into his face. He turned to look at her, but his features were in shadow and she could not read his expression. She felt his breath on her cheek and his face was close to hers.